


Another Broken Vow

by vivilove



Series: Naughty Alayne and Lord Commander Snow [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden, Jonsa Smut Week, Love, Rage Kitten, Roleplay, altered timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-01 03:26:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12696324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: She’d told him that it was just one time, an error in judgment on both their parts, a momentary lack of control. She’d said they wouldn’t make that mistake again.“No, I won’t,” he’d choked out miserably before he’d bid her good night and left her crying alone in the rooms they’d once shared.Alayne. Where is she? That naughty girl that started all this? Where has she gone?Sansa does not know but she misses their earlier times when Naughty Alayne would come out to play with the Lord Commander at night. She misses their games…but she misses Jon even more.****He cannot think straight. He cannot take time to consider. He can only act.“I never meant to drive you away. I only wanted to protect you. I have failed. I can’t…Sansa, I can’t let you go,” he whispers to the sleeping girl, the girl that holds his heart. His eyes fill with tears and they flow down his cheeks. “This was never meant for me. It is forbidden and I’m not allowed to want this, let alone act but gods…I cannot help but try.”





	Another Broken Vow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittykatknits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittykatknits/gifts).



> Gifting this to the marvelous kittykatknits for all her encouragement and advice on this series. Thank you :)
> 
> For Jonsa Smut Week on Tumblr. Day 6 Prompt-Forbidden 
> 
> Reminders for this series-Jon and Sansa know they are cousins and are their show ages instead of book. Sansa fled the Vale and was never married to Ramsey. She was a maiden before Jon. He has not been murdered/resurrected in this and the timeline has been altered as it suits my story. I've made no mention of the WW threat either. This is mostly about Jonsa love and smut :)

Sansa sits alone in the Lord Commander’s chambers that she’d shared with Jon until recently. He has found himself new quarters, saying it is for the best. It’s what’s proper and is how it should’ve been from the start, he says. How her heart aches at his words and his absence.

He’s left Ghost with her and two guards stand outside the door at all times. Jon has taken no one to guard his door though Sansa tells him it is foolish for a commander to go unprotected.

He sits with her occasionally by the fire at night. She still sits at his left in the hall when they share a meal. He will walk with her once in a while when she wants exercise. He often talks with her and asks her about her day…when others are present.

But he no longer kisses her. He no longer holds her in his arms. They no longer share a bed.

Nearly two moons have passed since the night Jon spilled within her during their frenzied coupling in a chair. They were both inebriated that night; her on sweet Arbor Gold and him on too much ale.

Sansa had tried desperately to assure him that one time did not mean he would get her with child. In fact, her moon blood had arrived a few days later. She’d thought he would be relieved. She knew how strongly he felt about never fathering a bastard, even without his vows, but she’d not expected him to continue keeping his distance.

She’d told him that it was just one time, an error in judgment on both their parts, a momentary lack of control. She’d said they wouldn’t make that mistake again.

“No, I won’t,” he’d choked out miserably before he’d bid her good night and left her crying alone in the rooms they’d once shared.

_Alayne. Where is she? That naughty girl that started all this...where has she gone?_

Sansa does not know but she misses their earlier times when Naughty Alayne would come out to play with the Lord Commander at night. She misses their games…but she misses Jon even more.

She rises from the fire and moves to his desk. She sits in the chair where she once wrote letters on his behalf. He no longer asks that of her. He is always busy with his officer’s or his men or King Stannis and his retinue. So, Sansa thinks he’d still need her help. He does. He’s just too frightened to be alone with her for long, she knows. Too afraid of giving in to temptation.

She sits in the sturdy wooden chair and remembers all the times his lips brushed the shell of her ear when she’d compose a letter and he would whisper a correction. She remembers the way his fingers would trace the ink that stained her own after she’d write all day. She recalls what they’d done in this very chair the last time he’d made love to her.

Sansa stifles a sob recalling that night, his arms and his body and his eyes…how his dark grey eyes had shone whilst she rode his cock and found her pleasure with the man she loved.  And their game that night…she’d pretended to be Naughty Alayne and enticed him with her scanty attire and her saucy, vulgar words.

How much longer will she stay here? A lovely bloom hidden away at the Wall in a place where only men are supposed to reside? Where will she go without Jon? To Winterfell to reclaim it from the Boltons? That’s what Stannis is promising. But what if he fails? Then what? Back to Lord Baelish in the Vale?

It’s too much to think on tonight. Sansa wishes that she truly was Alayne Stone sometimes, just a bastard girl that didn’t have so many enemies and so much to fear. She's a naughty girl that could play her games with the Lord Commander and not worry about the morrow.

She lays her head down on the desk, resigned to her fate of spending yet another night crying over things that can never be.

 

* * *

 

 

“Your cousin is uncommonly beautiful,” Ser Patrek of King’s Mountain says to Jon one day as she crosses the yard with the Princess Shireen and two guards.

“Aye,” Jon says gruffly. There’s a warning in his tone. Sansa and her beauty are forbidden topics around Jon Snow. Most men at the Wall have learned it but not this fool.

Ser Patrek of King’s Mountain is an arse and Jon should like to gouge out his eyes for staring at Sansa. He knows what he’s thinking as he watches her walk away, her hips swaying with her steps. Jon thinks the same thoughts. Perhaps it is wrong… _but she is mine._

 _No, she was mine_ , he corrects himself.

They know who Sansa is and it troubles Jon. How much longer can he protect her here? Stannis has sworn to protect Ned Stark’s daughter and see her restored to her rightful place. But, he is currently encamped at Castle Black with his knights and followers. Winterfell is many leagues to the south and firmly in the grasp of the Boltons.

“A beauty like that needs a husband,” the oaf says next. “A real husband. Not that Imp. I can’t imagine a dwarf would know how to please a maid so fair. Mind you…I don’t mind if he’s broken her in. I’m not that particular. I could…”

Jon moves with the speed of a shadow cat and Ser Patrek finds himself pinned by the throat to the wall of the armory.

“One more word about my cousin…and I’ll kill you myself,” he snarls at the knight.

He enjoys the way Ser Patrek’s eyes bulge with fear…or perhaps it is that he cannot draw a breath. He smells the man pissing himself as he tightens his grip and Jon is even more pleased. Ser Patrek is a large man but he is no match for Jon in his fury.

At last though, Jon releases the knight and Ser Patrek falls to his knees massaging this throat. It’s then that he notices the yard full of men staring at them; Stannis’s men, Queen Selyse’s men, and brothers of the Nights Watch. He hears them murmuring. They’ve been murmuring for a while now. They say he’s become a caged wolf. They’re right.

His brothers signal one another with nods and becks behind his back to warn their friends of the lord commander’s black mood. His mood is always black of late. He is filled with self-loathing for what he did…for what he _almost_ did…and for what he has done since.

He is no green boy. He should’ve known better that night. He knew how the ale was affecting him. It doesn’t matter how fetching she was in his tunic and her stockings with the sweet wine still flavoring her tongue and lips. The fault was his and his alone. They’d been lucky…but how soon until they were not so lucky?

How could he do that to Sansa? He could’ve got a bastard child on her that night. He trembles at the thought and his heart aches.

A child of his own…that was something Jon Snow had never thought he’d have. And Sansa…he loves her so. But he cannot marry. It is forbidden by his vows. And, he will not risk disgracing her by putting a bastard in her belly.

All his life, he’s lived with that shame. He could not do that to his own child. He could not shame his child’s mother that way. He loves her far too much though it kills him to stay away from her now.

He knows she spends her nights crying. The proof is there every morning in her red-rimmed eyes. It pierces his soul even as he grits his teeth and hardens his heart.

Jon sits in his cold cell and sips his sour small beer that Satin has brought with his supper. The blood sausage goes untouched. He’ll give it to Ghost. The Wall is no place to waste.

He recalls how it all started. The day she’d arrived at Castle Black, he’d felt like a man struck by lightning. She was the same girl he’d grown up with and yet she was so different. Not a girl now, a maiden, a beautiful maiden with her auburn hair still partially covered by the dark dye. And once she’d washed the dye out, he’d been lost for good.

His teasing, testing touches and caresses were nothing, he tried telling himself at first. But she figured him out and then started playing their games.

Naughty Alayne and the Lord Commander. It had been a fine game though his more honorable nature had revolted at times. But the part of him that was more wolf-like had loved the game. The part of him that recalled being shunned and humbled as a bastard boy liked having the fair, high-born maiden calling him ‘my lord’ whilst her lovely blue eyes stared up at him…and whilst her sweet pink mouth sucked his cock.

That was a game they played in autumn…but winter is nearly upon them.

 

* * *

 

 

“Lady Sansa,” the king says after she permits him to enter.

She is still in the Lord Commander’s chambers. She had thought she might be asked to move. He is a king after all. But Stannis respects the courtesies owed a lady even if he is not a particularly charming man.

“Your grace,” she says with a curtsy. He is not her king but she has curtsied to lesser monarchs.

“My army is preparing to leave in a few days to reclaim the North and your home.”

“I thank you for that, Your Grace. I will pray for your victory.”

“Who do you pray to, my lady?”

“The old gods, Your Grace,” she responds. _Though they ignore my prayers_ , she thinks. But she won’t pray to Stannis’s fire god.

Stannis clasps his hands together uneasily and walks about the room as though he has lost his train of thought.

 _Women make him nervous_ , Sansa realizes. _What would he think of Alayne?_

She nearly snickers at the thought and recalls Queen Cersei’s words the night of the Battle of Blackwater Bay.

 _I don’t wish to seduce him or his horse_ , Sansa thinks. _I only want my home back…if I can’t have Jon_.

“I have many unmarried knights sworn to me that would make a fine alliance with the Blood of Winterfell,” he says suddenly without preamble.

Sansa silently thanks him for his bluntness. It was not unexpected. Why should he wish to give Sansa back her home without gaining something? A fine gift for one of his faithful followers. The Key to the North; the castle and a wife. And he would want a loyal man to rule in her stead. Not some girl.

 _My claim_ , she thinks sadly. _That’s all they want. No one will ever marry me for love. No one but Jon…but that could never be. Marriage is forbidden to him and our hopes are futile._

He’s staring at her impatiently. He wants an answer.

She sighs and lifts her chin. She can be brave. She can do what is necessary to regain her home and her birthright. There could be a Stark in Winterfell again. _Father would like that_ , she thinks.

“Was there one in particular you would recommend, Your Grace?” she asks politely.

“One I’d recommend? Perhaps not,” Stannis scoffs irritably. “But I’ve one in mind who’ll serve me well enough and should make a decent husband for you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Jon arrives in the hall later than normal for his supper. He sees the king and his men gathered together talking amongst themselves. They seem jovial…except for Stannis. He hopes they’re discussing their departure. The Watch cannot keep feeding them indefinitely.

Stannis has said he’ll reclaim Winterfell and return Sansa to her rightful home. He’s asked Jon for any assistance or special knowledge he can provide to aid his efforts to take the castle. The Boltons will be hard to uproot. He mentioned that he’d be helping his fair cousin. He hinted that Jon would be welcome in his army. Then, he’d outright said as much.

Jon would fight to win back Winterfell for Sansa if he could. He could rebuild it with her. He thinks Lord Eddard and Robb would’ve wanted him to do that much…even if they’d have been less pleased with other things he has done.

“I swore a vow, Your Grace. My place is here,” Jon had said, with a heavy heart.

The king had had little to say to him since then.

“Ah, Lord Snow,” Stannis says sourly as he sees him approach. Stannis did not take the rejection well. “We’ll be leaving you day after tomorrow.”

“Very well. I wish you victory, Your Grace.”

“Yes,” one of the queen’s men says. “The Lord will grant our king victory. The Red Lady saw it in the flames.”

Jon makes no comment to the man about his beliefs. He’d advised Stannis to try and win over the Mountain Clans but he’s seen many surer things fail than Stannis, this campaign of his and the Red Woman’s fires.

“Before we go,” the same man says, “His Grace has determined that we will hold the ceremony tomorrow once the Lord of Light returns the sun to us. Ser Justin can have a night with his bride before we leave at dawn the following day. I hope you’ll be willing to escort your cousin to the ceremony. Surely, your vows do not prevent you from participating in a wedding so long as you’re not the groom,” the man finishes with a laugh.

“My vows? Ceremony? What bride? Why would I escort Sansa to…” Jon rambles as the wheels in his mind spin too fast trying to make sense of the words.

“I don’t believe we’ve ever spoken one on one,” a large knight with whiteish blond hair and a triple spiral sigil says. “I’m Ser Justin Massey, Lord Commander. I’ll be the lucky man marrying your beautiful cousin on the morrow.”

He smiles at Jon amiably and holds out his hand. Jon stares at his hand and wishes Ghost were here. He’d tell the wolf to tear the man’s hand off…and then rip out his throat.

“Marrying Sansa?” Jon sputters. “But…”

“Lady Sansa needs a husband, Lord Snow,” Stannis says with a clenched jaw, “and loyal men deserve to be rewarded for their service.”

The king walks away before Jon can say another word and Ser Justin claps a hand down on Jon’s shoulder.

“Share a bottle with us, my lord. Join us while I drink away my last night as a free man,” he japes.

Jon shakes off the hand and mutters an excuse as he flees the hall…before he winds up killing Ser Justin.

 _They can’t_ , he rages in his mind.

_They can. They will._

_I’ll not allow it._

_How do you plan to stop them?_

He cannot think straight. He cannot take time to consider. He can only act.

 

* * *

 

 

She’s lying in his bed when he enters the chambers. The guards had let him pass without a word. She was his kin, these were his chambers and he was the Lord Commander.

Ghost raises his head, his red eyes curious _. I’ll need you tonight, boy._

She’s sleeping peacefully. Her auburn hair shines in the firelight. Her face is more strained than he’d like. He sits on the edge of the bed carefully not wishing to disturb her.

“I never meant to drive you away. I only wanted to protect you. I have failed. I can’t…Sansa, I can’t let you go,” he whispers to the sleeping girl, the girl that holds his heart in her delicate but skilled hands. His eyes fill with tears and they flow down his cheeks. “This was never meant for me. It is forbidden and I’m not allowed to want this, let alone act. My life may be forfeit for what I’m about to do but gods…I cannot help but try.”

Still, he hesitates. He’s reluctant to wake her from her repose and drag her out into the night, to pull her from the relative safety of his chambers out beyond the Wall, especially after dark.

She stirs. “Please, Jon,” she murmurs in her sleep.

It’s sad the way she says it. It’s filled with bittersweet longing and resignation. It stiffens his resolve and he kisses her brow.

Her blue eyes flutter open. She smiles at him…until she realizes this isn’t a dream…until she remembers the past two moons.

“Why are you here?” she asks suspiciously, drawing up the furs to her chin.

“I’ve come to steal you, my love,” he responds.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa grasps Jon’s hand tightly and stays close by his side as Edd Tollett flanks them on one side with a torch and Ghost is on the other. Satin leads the way through the vast tunnel of ice with a torch as well. Sansa feels frightened to think of all that ice over their heads. If the Wall should crack and break, they’d be buried under countless pounds of it.

 _And dead in a heartbeat_.

She shivers and Jon wraps his arm around her waist. She’s wearing her thickest dress and stockings as Jon commanded and her cloak. But after the warmth of his bed and his fire, its chills her to the marrow to be out in the night.

Two other loyal friends of Jon’s follow in their wake leading five shaggy garrons. The gate on the far side opens with a shrieking screech and Sansa looks about fearfully. Something about this reminds her very much of her flight from the Red Keep with Ser Dontos.

 _Perhaps because it is similar. I’m fleeing a wedding again. But this time I flee my own…and flee to another of my own_.

They mount the horses once they are outside the gates. Jon carries her in front of him on his horse. Sansa gasps in wonder as her eyes adjust to the dark night. The moon is full. It reflects off the Wall and shines down upon the snowy landscape of another world. It is the same world she knows and yet it feels different.

“The old gods reign here,” she whispers to Jon.

“Aye, love, they do. The new gods hold no sway beyond the Wall.”

“I’ve prayed to the old gods…since Father...” she says with the hopeful voice of a small child.

They ride for a good bit till they reach the glade of trees where a great Weirwood stands. The moonlight is dimmed by the blood red leaves and Sansa is grateful for the torches. There are wonders beyond the Wall but she feels small and vulnerable here with only a handful of men as she stands before the gods.

Jon dismounts and takes her round the waist to pull her down into his arms. He’s nervous but his smile is genuine. She can tell he’d like to kiss her but he doesn’t. He’ll wait.

The men gather to witness the simple ceremony, far simpler than a Southron wedding. Sansa decides she prefers this.

“I take this man,” she says clearly when the time comes.

Jon kisses her once. His kiss is chaste though his dark eyes smolder in the torchlight. They kneel before the heart tree to offer their prayers to the gods. She wonders if her father can see them through the tree. A breeze picks up and whispers through the leaves and she would almost swear she could hear his voice saying that he can.

“Give us a few minutes,” Jon says gruffly to his faithful men.

His tone is commanding. The lord commander’s voice. The men retreat a fair distance away. Sansa can barely hear the horses. The torches are pinpricks through the woods. But her eyes have adjusted to the night. And Ghost stays with them.

“Our witness and our guard,” he says with a small smile at the direwolf.

She knows the others long to return to the safety of Castle Black on the other side of the Wall…but she knows what Jon intends first.

“Let it not be said this marriage was unconsummated,” she whispers.

His face is stern but his eyes are soft. “I plan to take my time with you tonight in our chambers,” he says, “but if word of our departure reached the king or his men and they are waiting for us...”

“Take me, my lord. I am yours,” she says.

The pent-up passion he has denied them both these past two moons erupts and he pulls her roughly to him kissing her with a hunger that would frighten her if she did not share it. His hands are everywhere, holding her, squeezing her, caressing her. His mouth sucks blooms on her neck as he marks her.

_His. I am his…and he is mine._

She moans when his fingers sweep across her nipples through her thick, woolen dress. They’re sensitive. She wonders if Jon might put a babe in her this night.

“Please, Jon,” she says softly.

His head raises from her throat. His sensuous lips are chapped from the wind but moist at the moment from kissing her.

“I love you, wife,” he says as he walks her backwards towards the tree.

“Jon…the old gods will see,” she says in awe.

_Could he be so bold? Can I?_

_Alayne could. You can be so bold as well_.

“Aye, love,” he says in his deep husky voice that sends a quiver of longing up and down her spine. “They will witness our union and will curse any man that seeks to tear us apart.”

Her back is against the solid trunk and Jon’s hands are busy lifting her skirts. Sansa is eager too now. She’s been without him for too long. She’d nearly lost him. She’d nearly given herself to another man she did not love. She’ll worry tomorrow about what this may mean for them both. The night is theirs.

“I’m sorry for this,” he says sheepishly.

Sansa starts to ask what he’s sorry for as he tears her smallclothes away.

“I’ll make you mend them,” she teases and he laughs.

“Gods, Sansa…I love you so.”

“And, I you.”

He’s fumbling with his laces in the dark and in the cold. She aids him best she can and grins mischievously at him.

“This seems more like something Alayne would do,” she says.

“Sansa Stark,” he teases back, “are you saying you would never let a man take you against a tree in the dead of night with four other men nearby?”

“Never…” she laughs, “never except with you.”

His laces are undone at last and his cock springs free. Sansa closes her hand over him and strokes him. The cold night air is soon no match for his ardor. He hisses and bucks into her hand.

“Careful now,” she says tauntingly. “You’re supposed to finish inside your bride, my lord, not her hand.”

“Aye, you’re right,” he grins. He pushes her skirts the rest of the way up and Sansa lifts one leg around his hip. He sinks inside her with a groan. “Gods…I’ve missed you so much, my love.”

“Me, too. Oh, Jon…please…move.”

His arm loops under her knee, pulling her leg more firmly around him and spreading her more fully. He begins to thrust, his eyes never leaving her face. Sansa can feel him gliding back and forth inside of her. Already that ache is building. It’s been too long, too many nights of missing his arms around her, of missing this.

“Kiss me, Jon,” she says.

He dives in for that kiss as though his life depended on it, as though he was dying of thirst and she were a river. His tongue sweeps along her own and his lips cover hers. And all the while, his cock pumps in and out of her cunny.

The tree bark is rough against her back but she does not care. She can hear Edd Tollett coughing in the distance and she does not care. She moans and loses herself to the sensation of Jon inside of her.

“I’m not going to last,” he grunts hoarsely.

She knows. She can tell by the way he bites his lip.

“Jon…” she prompts, looking down between them.

He knows just what to do. The hand that was holding her leg around him slides between them. His callused finger circles her little bud and then rubs it. Sansa’s head lolls back and Jon starts sucking on her neck again.

“You’re mine, Sansa. Mine,” he chants, his hot breath on her throat and his hand making her see spots all while he never ceases thrusting inside her.

“I’m yours...all yours. Oh, gods,” she cries.

She wasn’t sure it would happen this time. The new angle, the outdoors, the men in the distance…but it happens all the same. Her body has missed his too much.

“Jon!” she shouts, no longer mindful of the others. “ _Ohhhh_ , Jon!”

Her peak comes upon her and she wants to weep with joy. The coiling tightness down low in her sex unfurls in splendid release as he slams into her more forcefully eagerly seeking his own now.

“Sansa! Gods, yes! _Unnn-ugh!”_ he cries as he finds it, his hot seed spurting deep into her womb.

They’re both shaking from their release and clinging to one another. The night air is cold on the exposed parts of her legs. Jon says his arse will be frostbitten if they don’t cover up soon and she giggles into the side of his neck.

“‘Twould be a shame for anything to happen to your fine arse,” she says…just like that Naughty Alayne might.

He chuckles and kisses her again. And still they hold on to one another just a bit longer.

Ghost howls and a horse whickers in response and the spell is broken. They right their clothes though her small clothes are hopelessly ruined for now. It is time to return. The men and the Wall await the Lord Commander.

 

* * *

 

 

They had made it safely back to the Wall and his chambers that night.  And as promised, Jon loved her slowly and sweetly into the night.  She was still half asleep when he rose late the next morning to say he must see to the king.

To say that Stannis was displeased would be putting it mildly. Sansa is not privy to all the threats or angry words that greeted Jon when he arrived at her wedding without the bride and confessed what he had done.

She was told to stay by the fire with Ghost. She paces his chambers and frets though. He broke his vows. He was forbidden to take a wife but he did. Stannis could declare the marriage null and void despite the consummation. He could declare Jon an oath-breaker and take his head. His own brothers could do the same.

But none of that happens.

“He said to me, ‘Lay your sword at my feet. Swear yourself to me and I will recognize your marriage.'"

"Truly, Jon?" she asks, too afraid to believe it.

"Aye.  He also told me, 'Aid me in my campaign and win back your family’s home. If you will do so, I will pardon you for breaking your vows. I will declare your watch at an end. And if we succeed, I will name you Jon Stark and name you lord of Winterfell.’ I argued against the last bit.”

“Whatever for?!” Sansa says incredulously.

“Winterfell belongs to you, my lady," he says simply.  "But if he would legitimize me…”

“You were always a Stark, Jon,” she says with total conviction now. “But now, you’d be one to all the North.”

Long ago, that young girl that Sansa Stark had been might not have seen it that way. But that girl had never thought she’d be a bastard someday. She knows better now. He is as much a Stark as she is, no matter who his father was.

He grins self-consciously and nods. She knows it has long been one of the dearest wishes of his heart, something he'd been ashamed of wishing for though. He’d whispered as much in her ear a time or two.

“I'm afraid your poor intended was quite devastated,” he adds as an afterthought with a feigned look of sympathy.

Sansa laughs and throws herself into his arms.

There is still a battle to be fought and a dangerous foe to defeat. And the Boltons are far from their only enemies but for now it is enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon worried over leaving her behind at Castle Black during the campaign but the thought of taking her with him was unthinkable.

“A camp full of soldiers marching to battle…it’s no place for a lady,” he had said as he held her in his bed their final night at Castle Black.

“Alayne would not mind life in camp and sleeping in a tent with her Lord Commander.”

“No, she wouldn’t, I suppose,” he chuckles.

“Let me go with you, Jon…just for a while. You said Stannis is going to the Mountain Clans in the hopes of winning them to his cause. Father always spoke well of them. Perhaps together you and I could help sway them. And then maybe I could stay there with the Liddles or Wulls when you move on.”

She gets her way of course. Sansa always seems to get her way with him and makes the impossible possible. And in the end, Stannis is glad of her presence when it comes to his dealings with the Wull and the others. She has a way with people, Jon knows.

She certainly has a way with him…

“Ah, fuck! You’re so tight, love,” he grunts as he pounds into Sansa’s slick cunt that grips him perfectly.

 _Alayne…she wants to play tonight_ , he reminds himself.

She’s face down across the table in the tent they share and loudly calling out in pleasure with every thrust. Other tents surround them and many nights, Sansa keeps her cries and moans shushed. But not when she is Alayne.

He’d been studying battle plans not ten minutes ago. He’d told his wife to go on to sleep, that he would be up another hour at least. Alayne had a better idea.

At first, he’d thought she was sulking but soon realized she was moaning. He had glanced up from his papers to find her completely naked and sprawled across the furs that cover their sleeping pallet, pumping her finger in and out of her cunt with one hand as the other tweaked a nipple.

“Sansa,” he’d breathed in shock. “What are you…”

She didn’t answer him though. She’d kept her eyes closed and played her game.

“ _Mmmm_ … _ohhh_ , Lord Commander,” she’d said in a sultry voice. She’d tilted her head forwards enough to swipe her nipple with her tongue. “ _Ahhhh_ …it’s so good, my lord,” she’d cried as she squeezed her teat more firmly and her finger played at her little bud.

“Seven hells,” he had said helplessly before he’d jumped up and joined her.

And now, his breeches are around his ankles as he pounds her into the table.

“Am I more fun than your maps and plans?” she teases.

"Gods, yes," he groans as he gazes his fill at her firm arse and her naked back where her red hair falls across it.

Her breasts are pressed into those pieces of parchment and Jon wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at them again without getting hard. His hands glide up and down the smooth skin of her back and he tells her all the delightfully dirty things he wishes to do with her this night. She juts her arse back into him, pushing him even deeper inside.

“Yes, my lord…yes! Give me that cock. Your Naughty Alayne wants it so badly!”

“ _Unnn_ …come for me…Alayne. Come on my cock, my wicked girl,” he says. He smacks her arse cheeks and she yelps, eliciting another chuckle from him.

“Harder, my lord,” she begs.

“Oh, gods,” he moans. He grips her hips tighter and he’s already thinking of the marks she’ll have come morning. He’ll kiss each one tenderly but she knows about that wicked part of him that loves seeing them. “Sansa…I’m going to come,” he pants as he nears his release.

“Then, come, my lord,” she cries.

He still struggles to keep the names straight when they play but he knows she’ll forgive him.

And when he rubs her bud and pounds into her even harder, sending her over the edge to that sweet abyss where nothing matters but the feel of their bodies together, he knows there’s nowhere he’d rather be than with her forever, whether she is his beloved wife Sansa...or pretending to be Naughty Alayne.

 

* * *

 

After, when they are exhausted and lying in their camp bed, he pulls her close and wonders if they might have made a babe this night.

"No, we didn't," she says.  He raises his brow in question.  She laughs wickedly.  Men, for all the good that can be said about them, especially one like Jon, can be so oblivious.  "We didn't make one tonight because I've not bled in two moons."  His eyebrows disappear into his curls practically before a sweet but confused scowl appears.  "We already did, my lord."

And her laughter rings out loud and clear in the night as he tickles her in punishment for keeping this secret from her Lord Commander for a bit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end of this series which I've enjoyed writing for smut week. I may consider revisiting this series again in the future though. Tomorrow's final piece for smut week will be Post-Canon Jonsa love & smut :)
> 
> I'm @vivilove-jonsa on Tumblr if you ever want to say hello there!


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